


Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix)

by kianspo



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: (not quite) infidelity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M, taking a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianspo/pseuds/kianspo
Summary: While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, brief Charles Xavier/OMC, brief Erik Lehnsherr/OMC
Comments: 18
Kudos: 262
Collections: X-Men Remix Madness 2020





	Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Frost & Darkholme](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345117) by [Gerec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec). 
  * In response to a prompt by [Gerec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec) in the [xmen_remix_madness2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmen_remix_madness2020) collection. 



> So, since somehow it didn't make it into the story: Raven and Emma run a business together (as in the original work, F&D) which consists of a male clothing line, an online store, and also a chain of restaurants. Erik is the face of F&D.
> 
> Also, the original fic is scorching hot, highly recommend!

Charles sits at the kitchen counter numbly, staring at the pictures. It’s not at all what he has expected when he opened the envelope. The production team sent them over for Erik—a usual courtesy after the shoot was over and before the art department got their hands on them. Erik usually goes through them quickly, purely out of professional interest—noting what worked and what didn’t and what pictures were selected for the final batch.

Charles loves to go through them for a whole different reason. He never gets tired of looking at Erik's body, at the easy grace of the captured moments. He likes to imagine the life behind the shoot’s story, picturing Erik as a busy executive, or a ruthless lawyer, or even a professional hustler. He likes to share them with Erik, and Erik indulges him, pulling him close and teasing: ‘Tell me how we met in this one then. Were you my client? My rival? My mark?’

Charles can spin a pretty good story when he’s properly motivated, and they have fun with it, but after it’s over, Erik always says: ‘I like our version better.’ Charles calls him a sap and pretends it doesn’t thrill him every single time.

But this shoot… This shoot is different.

Erik hasn’t seen the pictures yet. Charles was home first and opened the envelope without a second thought. Erik never minded him doing this. He spreads out the pictures on the kitchen counter, an eager half-smile of anticipation curling on his lips, when his heart gives a sudden unpleasant lurch.

It’s the underwear shoot. Charles knows this even before the pictures spill out. Raven has been excited for weeks after she and Emma had come up with that idea. Even Charles admitted that he was intrigued. Erik just shrugged and said, ‘If that’s what you think we need.’

They cast him together with Simon, their brand-new rising-star model. Charles met him briefly after the audition, they chatted for a bit. Simon was young, incredibly good-looking (a given with F&D), and generally a nice guy. He was cheeky in a way that was more adorable than annoying. Charles liked him.

He stares at the pictures and feels sick.

They aren’t explicit, merely provocative. More so than Erik's shoots usually are, but that’s understandable, considering it’s an _underwear_ shoot. Charles skims through the pictures of Erik and Simon apparently having breakfast in bed, Erik working out on the bedroom floor while Simon watches, Erik reading the paper while Simon is on the phone. The pictures are cute, sexy but domestic. There’s no elaborate story attached to them this time. This could be anyone’s life. This could be Erik and Charles.

I’m jealous, Charles realizes with a start. 

It’s surprising, considering what Erik looks like and how many people hit on him on a regular basis, that Charles is unaccustomed to the feeling. Usually, he feels exhilarated when Erik does a shoot with someone else, thinking: _He’s mine, he’s coming home to me, he wants me_. It’s a thrill.

This—this isn’t. Erik's eyes are soft in the pictures, none of his usual stern aloofness that has become his trademark in the modeling business. He watches Simon like an indulgent lover. Their chemistry is palpable through the limited two-dimensional images.

A photo in the bathroom slides out, and Charles feels his blood turn cold.

Erik is only wearing a pair of really well-fitting boxer-shorts. He’s leaning against the marble sink, facing the camera. Simon in on his knees before him, only his head and shoulders in the shot, the back of his head strategically concealing Erik's crotch from view, his fingers caught in the waistband of Erik's shorts.

It’s not the risqué position that leaves Charles shaken. It’s the expression on Erik's face. To anyone else—the photographer, the design team, Raven, this might look like playacting, _modelling_ , Erik simply doing his job, consummate professional that he is. Charles knows better.

He doesn’t need to see Erik's dick to know he’s hard. And not just in a ‘you’ve been touching me for a while—you’re hot—I’m human—it’s natural’ kind of way. It’s not just physical. Erik is _flushed_ , biting his lip, eyes half-lidded, fingers in a white-knuckled grip on the sink behind him. His face is… Charles _knows_ this face. This is the way Erik has never looked in any of the shoots he’s ever done. This is the way he looks when he can barely hold himself together, when he wants to come so badly it hurts, when he’s seconds away from fucking Charles's mouth.

Only, it’s not Charles looking up at him. It’s Simon.

Charles pulls back, closing his eyes.

Erik didn’t. Charles knows this. Erik is not that kind of man. Erik would never cheat on him. Would never hurt Charles on purpose. Erik is one of the most straightforward people Charles has ever met. They’ve been together eight years. They’ve been dating—well, fucking, long before that. Erik loves him.

Erik also wants to fuck Simon. It’s as clear as a day.

For a moment, Charles pictures it. Kelly calling the shoot over, Erik dragging Simon into the dressing room, pushing him down, shoving the stupid damn underwear off, and grabbing Simon’s head as he fucks his face, Simon sucking eagerly, adoring hands sliding up Erik's thighs.

It hurts.

It actually hurts on a physical level. Charles lets out a soft, broken whine and clutches at his stomach, staggering backward from the counter. He ends up on the tiled floor on his knees, curled over, trying to breathe through the swell of pain in his chest. For endless moments, he’s aware of nothing but his own harsh breathing.

He sits on the floor for what feels like hours, back against the wall. Now that his pulse has quieted and his mind has cleared, he thinks back to the night of the shoot, a couple of weeks ago, and sees it all so clearly.

_Erik got home late that night. Charles was already sleeping. Erik didn’t even undress, didn’t so much as kick off his shoes, before he crawled up onto the bed, drew the covers back, and rolled Charles onto his back. Charles was groggy, sleepy, and not entirely responsive, but none of that stopped Erik from tugging his pajama pants down roughly and taking him into his mouth. Charles woke up then, surprised and confused. His fingers tangled in Erik's hair as Erik sucked him off, with Charles breathing out muddled ‘What’s with you? Erik, what’s going on?’ Erik ignored him, just sucked harder, and it wasn’t as if Charles could really concentrate with Erik's lips wrapped around him, Erik's tongue being wicked, almost rough, and certainly not with Erik deep-throating him with no warning. When Charles came, Erik climbed up the bed, pressed against him, smelling of shoot-sweat, hair spray, and cigarettes, and fucked Charles's stomach until he came with a grunt, making Charles a mess. Charles tried to kiss him, and Erik sobbed into his mouth, then tore himself away and stalked off into the shower. By the time he was done, Charles was asleep again. Erik was his usual poised self in the morning, and laughed it off, saying ‘We haven’t for a few days. I missed you.’ Charles, unwisely, obliviously, let it go._

Charles bites his lip, his eyes stinging. Erik didn’t cheat on him, no. He came home and fucked Charles after being driven out of his mind with lust for another man.

When the front door opens, Charles considers getting up, but he doesn’t really have the energy for it. He sits where he is, listening to the familiar— _so damn familiar_ —sounds of Erik dropping his keys into the bowl, taking his shoes off.

“Charles?” he calls out.

Charles doesn’t answer, even as he hears Erik calling for him again as he moves around the apartment. Finally, Erik comes into the kitchen and freezes, spotting him.

“Charles? Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“Yeah.” Charles finally shifts, looking up at him. “I mean, no, sorry. Got a bit lost in my head.”

Erik cocks his head to the side, studying him. “What are you doing down there? Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” Charles says. “Just resting my eyes.”

Erik studies him a moment longer, clearly dissatisfied and confused, but then his gaze inevitably lands on the counter. Charles watches him being drawn closer like people watch a car wreck, helpless and dreading. Erik flicks through the pictures with his usual detached interest, until his breath suddenly hitches. Charles knows what he’s looking at. For a long moment, Erik holds perfectly still.

“It’s a nice shoot,” Charles says, something close to hysteria bubbling in his chest. “You look—you both look gorgeous. Raven must be very happy.”

Erik studies the picture a while longer, before finally turning. Their eyes meet. Charles was ready for it, but he still flinches at the expression in Erik's eyes.

“Charles—”

“It’s all right.” Charles cuts him off, getting up to his feet jerkily. “It happens.”

“ _Nothing_ happened.” Erik follows him toward the window. “It was an intense shoot, I got really into it, that’s all.”

“I know. You don’t have to—”

“Dammit, listen to me.” Erik grabs his arm, spins him around. “I love _you_. I want _you_.”

Charles nods, helpless to stop the tears from spilling. “You want him, too.”

Once upon a time he’d fallen in love with how brutally honest Erik is. Nothing has changed, and Erik can’t lie to him now.

“Yes,” a quiet, miserable confession.

It hurts. It hurts. Charles thinks he might vomit.

“It’s all right,” he whispers, pulling out of Erik's slackened grip. “It’s all right. I understand. It happens. It’s how it was with us, too.”

Back when F&D were just starting with no advertising budget to speak of, Charles was their first model. Charles and soon after—Charles and Erik. Erik was already a household name at the time. They couldn’t really afford him, but he agreed to come for a casting session, and he auditioned with Charles, and after, he’d agreed to what had to be a really modest compensation package without a word of protest.

Later, when they were no longer struggling, Charles, who had never been happy in front of the camera, retreated back into the business side of things. Erik tried to talk him out of it, but it was a solid choice. It would give them more freedom, more variety. In the end, they compromised by moving in together at the same time, and Charles doing an occasional shoot with him, when the marketing team informed them it was time for a few ‘golden oldies.’

It’s been over a year, Charles realizes, since he’s been in a shoot with Erik. No one has brought it up.

“Charles…” Erik's voice is hoarse, his eyes tortured. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I—”

“Stop!” Charles snaps, suddenly angry. “What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault. It’s human nature. I get it. I just—I need a moment with this, okay?”

Erik falls silent. Charles wants to rage. He’s hurting and he wants to lash out—at anything, at anyone, at Erik. But Erik doesn’t deserve that, and what kind of an asshole does this make Charles? Would he have preferred that Erik lied to him?

He hugs himself and turns away, wanting to disappear, wanting for everything to just stop.

“Charles,” Erik says quietly. “What can I do?”

He means to help, Charles knows. He’s asking what would make Charles feel better. Charles wants to slap him and to slap himself, and it’s not helpful at all.

“Maybe we could take some time off?” Erik suggests tentatively. “Go on vacation. You wanted to learn to surf, remember? We could—”

“No.”

Charles shudders. It’s horrible, but the last thing he wants right now is to be alone with Erik, wrapped up in him like a clingy, pathetic boyfriend. He’d heard it before, people whispering every once in a while that he was with someone so clearly out of his league. He never cared, but it comes back to bite him now. Erik respects people who fight for what they want, but Charles can’t with this. Not with Erik. Not this time, he can’t.

“I think,” he says slowly, and he had never in a million years thought this might be them, “I think we need to take a break.”

“What?” Erik snaps. “You want to break up with me?”

“No, I want us to get some time away from each other.”

“Charles, you’re overreacting. _Nothing happened_.”

“And I’m not punishing you!” Charles whirls on him. “But I don’t know how to deal with this, Erik.” He gestures at the pictures. “You did nothing wrong, I know, and I’m sorry. But I can’t help the way I feel either. I know it’s unfair, and I know you don’t deserve this, but I can’t—I can’t…”

Erik hugs him then, and Charles collapses into him, shaking, eyes stinging, as Erik holds him, rubbing soothing hands over his back.

“I love you,” he presses into the crook of Charles's neck.

Charles sighs, shuddering. “I love you, too.”

It’s tempting, it’s so incredibly tempting to just stay here, to burn the damn pictures, and maybe fire Simon, and pretend the whole thing never happened. It’s tempting, but he can’t.

He makes himself step back.

\--

They agree on six months. Charles stays in the apartment, and Erik moves back to his loft. They agree on minimal or no contact. They agree that they are free to see other people.

Charles doesn’t really know how he survives the negotiations, because every single word hurts. Erik is one big ball of misery, but he doesn’t fight Charles. He doesn’t try to talk him out of it. He packs his bag and leaves, and he doesn’t say ‘I love you’ again.

Charles doesn’t sleep that night, and calls in sick the next day. He packs a bag, too, borrows Logan’s car, and drives until he can no longer hear the noise of the city behind him.

\--

The first month is a long, depressive hell. Charles goes to work and is even functional, but he can’t go anywhere near the marketing floor. He tells Raven he wants to switch directions, try something new, and goes to manage their healthy food restaurants with Emma.

Emma is heartless in the best of ways—caring about the business far more than she does about any personal drama. It’s exactly what Charles needs right now. She’s not so inhuman as to let it go without a single ‘I told you so’, but she gets it out of her system quickly enough. It helps that he knows nothing about how to run a restaurant. He has too much to learn for her to let him waste his time moping.

Raven is apologetic at first. She wrings her hands and hugs Charles for longer than he wants to and looks at him like a kicked puppy every time they run into each other. It sets Charles's teeth on edge. Yes, she cast Simon, but what happened was hardly her fault. 

Charles and Erik have been together for so long that everyone in the business called them boring. Raven used to joke about them needing to spice things up. Charles can see how this is making her feel guilty now, but he doesn’t want to deal with that. Why must Raven’s guilt be also on him? Why must everything? He’s tired, he’s hurt, can’t they all deal with their own shit for once?

He avoids Raven.

Month two is not exactly easier, but somehow different. Angrier perhaps. Or more frustrated.

“Sugar, if you want this to work—whatever it is that you’re doing—you need to do what you said you would and put yourself out there,” Emma tells him.

“I can’t—” Charles closes his eyes. “I can’t date anyone right now, Emma.”

“Oh, honey.” Her gaze turned pitying. “Who said anything about dating?”

He needs to get laid, she tells him. Charles doesn’t see how this will make him feel any better, but he’s willing to try. He’s willing to try anything to stop feeling the way he is.

Emma drags him out shopping, and Charles allows it, satisfied that for once he won’t be wearing anything produced by the F&D. Emma rolls her eyes, but agrees. When she’s done, Charles looks into the mirror and sees a version of himself he hasn’t seen in seven years at least. It’s dark and edgy and basically screaming that he’s up for anything. Emma’s arms circle his waist.

“You could go right back to modeling, do you know?” she tells him and snaps a picture of the two of them in the mirror. “Ass like yours should always be on display.”

“Thanks. I feel entirely objectified.”

“Good. You should be,” she replies, unflappable, catches his earlobe between her teeth and snaps another picture.

Charles doesn’t need a chaperone when he gets to the club. He knows this part. He remembers this part. But it’s not, it’s _not_ cowardice if he wants to get drunk first, because part of him can’t believe he’s doing what he’s doing.

The guy he picks is young, tall and muscly, and a little blurry to Charles just then. He looks nothing at all like Erik, and it has to be good enough. His apartment is filled with workout equipment and bags of protein shakes, and it should have been a warning signal right there, but Charles doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all.

The guy fucks him on all fours, brutish strength and no finesse, not even trying to make it good for Charles. He fucks him the way people fuck in porn, or with random strangers they pick up and never intend to see again. It’s entirely selfish, chasing his own high, manhandling Charles like a ragdoll for his pleasure. Charles allows it, because he’s drunk, because he doesn’t care, and most of all, because he feels he deserves it.

Mr. Protein Shake has impressive stamina, but it’s only when he doesn’t really go soft when he’s done that Charles realizes he must have taken something. He doesn’t care, so he lets him have another go, and then another. Somewhere around turn number four, it becomes really uncomfortable, bordering on painful, but Charles doesn’t stop him then, either, just buries his face in the pillow and endures it, and doesn’t even try to touch his dick. He falls asleep in the middle of being fucked again.

The first thing he does in the morning is stagger to the bathroom and throw up. When he’s done, he sits there for a while, hugging the toilet, his head spinning, his ass a dull ache. Then, he rinses his mouth, drinks about a liter of water, fixes his clothes, and goes home.

It’s another month before Emma bullies him into going out again. He does with less resistance this time, hoping to be done with it. He pulls someone within the first ten minutes. It almost feels like a waste of a drink. He goes again a week later. It’s not as memorable as the first time, but he’s still sick halfway through. And the most horrible thing is that it makes him miss Erik, miss him terribly, miss his hands, his voice, his touch.

He wonders if Erik has fucked Simon yet. He wonders if he’s doing it even now. If they are dating, if Simon has moved in, is puttering about Erik's loft in his underwear making coffee, feeding Erik pieces of toast from his own plate.

It’s been three months, and Charles stops going to the clubs. Emma sighs but doesn’t press him.

Month number four is oddly quiet. Charles works late most nights, but then, most people in the office do, so he doesn’t feel like he’s sticking out. He takes gourmet leftovers home and watches every new TV show Raven is excited about. He rereads some of his favorites. He goes running in the park. He thinks about Erik sometimes, but it’s like stepping on a shard of glass—a sharp, intense pain for a moment, before everything settles back to base.

A few weeks later, their new vegetables supplier asks him out. Charles doesn’t really think about it before he says yes. They go out for coffee, and it’s surprisingly pleasant. He isn’t trying to impress his date, and it’s… nice. He laughs a lot even though Steve’s jokes aren’t really that funny. But it feels good to laugh. It feels like he’s never done it before. They go out a few more times before Charles puts a stop to it, but the feeling lingers.

Like a door has been opened somewhere, he’s suddenly inundated with memories of every sweet, tender moment he and Erik ever shared. It doesn’t hurt quite as much to think about them anymore, and Charles goes through the day grinning, remembering how Erik had brought him coffee for the whole first month of their acquaintance before he figured out that Charles preferred tea; how Erik locked himself out in nothing but a towel when they went to France, and was accosted by half a dozen school girls by the time Charles found him; how Erik looked so unbelievably gorgeous in photos, but couldn’t dance without making a fool of himself to save his life.

He remembers how Erik said, haltingly, feeling his way, for the very first time: ‘I think I’m in love with you. That never happened to me before.’

He drifts with the feeling.

He has good days and bad days and neutral days. Some days he thinks that he was an idiot when he let a good thing—the best that has ever happened to him really—go over something as insignificant as a little case of workplace sexual tension. Other days, he knows he could not have lived the lie. Erik wanted someone bad enough that he’d stopped one inch away from sleeping with them. How could Charles ignore that? If anything, how could he pretend that he didn’t notice that Erik was in pain?

No, he did the right thing. The only right thing, possibly. It might cost him Erik. But if that happened, it wouldn’t be because of Charles's decision. If that happened, then, had Charles chosen the other way, he would only have been prolonging the agony, torturing them both.

He loves Erik. Erik loves him. In a couple of weeks, he’ll find out if that is enough.

\--

He doesn’t mark the date on his calendar, doesn’t need to. He wonders sometimes if Erik even remembers it. Charles isn’t looking forward to reminding him. His worries, however, are unfounded.

It’s late in the afternoon, and Charles is alone in his office, when there’s a knock on the door. Charles looks up and feels his mouth go dry.

Erik is standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his polo shirt stretching tightly across his chest. He’s smiling his quiet rueful smile as he takes Charles in, looking at him like a starving man seeing bread.

“Erik!” Charles pushes to his feet hastily, caught off guard somehow and blushing. “Come in. I wasn’t… Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Erik's smile dims a little as he walks inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. From behind his back, he brings out a paper cup.

“Spiced chai latte?”

“Er.” Charles walks around the desk, feeling awkward suddenly, like a teenager being asked out on a date for the first time. “Thanks.”

He wraps his hands automatically around the cup, but can’t take a sip, can’t really make sense of it. Erik is too close, and Charles feels dizzy as the familiar scent of his aftershave reaches him, evoking the conditioned response of wanting to be closer.

“Um,” he says. He can’t really look up.

Erik takes the cup back from him, sets it on the desk. Then, before Charles can react in any way, Erik's gorgeous, big hands are on his waist, and then he’s pushed against the wall, and Erik is kissing him, hard and deep and a little bit panicked.

“Please tell me I can come home,” Erik whispers into the hollow of his throat. “Please, Charles. I’ve done what you asked. I know you have, too. I’ve been miserable the entire time, and I can’t take this anymore. Please. Take me back or cut me loose, but—”

“Erik.” Charles cups his face with trembling hands. “Please come home with me.”

Erik makes a noise that goes straight into Charles's heart and all but falls into the kiss, shaking in Charles's arms, clutching him too close and too tight for comfort. Charles isn’t faring much better.

“Let’s never do this again,” Erik whispers. “My life doesn’t make sense without you.”

Charles doesn’t get any sleep that night at all, but he’s not complaining.

\--

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [linger like a tattoo kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792606) by [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity)




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